


The Future is Replicated

by Halfblood_Fiend



Series: Two Worlds Collided [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, bitter disappointment at the end probably, it's banana bread time babey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 23:21:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19365766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfblood_Fiend/pseuds/Halfblood_Fiend
Summary: "Baking is my passion," I say. The year is 2374. I have forgotten one very vital piece of information. Vorik is kind enough to remind me,





	The Future is Replicated

**Author's Note:**

> Just a heads up: though a lot of people don't like the newer and shinier Treks, I am personally a fan of mixing updated tech with the old Trek stuff whenever I imagine it, so forgive me for having holograms as a thing that exists. That is all.

When I announced my plans for the morning as we made our bed together, I had known Vorik would probably want to watch me the whole time. Like a hawk, apparently—or whatever was equivalent to a hawk on Vulcan. He eased himself in a chair across the table from me as I began, chancing glances at me over his PADD, a dubious expression firmly in place. The Vulcan was silent as I pulled up an ancient recipe and transferred it from my PADD to the larger holographic kitchen display. He hadn’t said anything as I began replicating ingredients from the list and arranged each bowl according to the order it would be mixed. The last straw for him, however, seemed to be when I began scrolling the display to double check my recipe before adding my dry ingredients together.

“You  _do_  realize that if you wanted this ‘banana bread’ so badly, it would have been far easier to simply replicate the finished product, as opposed to all its individual components.”

I smiled to myself. I’d been waiting for some logical thing like this and I was a little surprised it had taken Vorik so long to inform me I was being nonsensical. Again. “I’m willing to bet anything that it tastes different when you bake it from scratch. Most things do.”

“You replicated all the ingredients,” he said reasonably, gesturing to the sea of bowls in front of him. “The finalized product shall be the exact same. The only variable you have introduced will be your own ability, which when compared to that of a replicator, will most certainly be found lacking.”

I threw him a half-hearted dirty look and stuck my tongue out and started mixing my dry ingredients. There were so many nuances. So many other important factors _besides_ the "finalized product." Where to even begin to explain? “I like baking. I’m good at it and I miss doing it. A replicator can’t emulate the heart and soul a good baker will put into this bread—”

“It couldn’t  _burn_  it either,” he said, but I ignored him and finished loudly:

“—Or the  _love_  that’s passed on through homemade things.”

Vorik sighed and rolled his eyes. “Must you humans always do that? You insist on giving everything more meaning than it needs. It’s a very telling display of your species’ highly illogical need to pack bond with  _everything_.”

“It’s not illogical, it helped us survive,” I reasoned with him as I mashed perfectly overripe bananas.

“At the beginning of your species’ development, perhaps. Pack bonding with other humans, certainly.  _Not_   now and _not_ with inanimate objects like food.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at him. “Don’t Vulcans have any notion of pouring their hearts and souls into things they do? Beautiful things?”

“Fine art, music… Not  _food_. Not inanimate objects that are simply necessary. Food is for sustenance and energy. It shouldn’t be romanticized.”

I laughed, and I shook my head at him. “Oh, I  _know_ Vulcans don’t romanticize their food. I’ve eaten it before.” I looked up from my mixing bowl and spatula to wink at him.

“Ha. Ha.” He tapped the end of his stylus to his PADD and shook his head back at me.  _Illogical creature_ , I could practically hear the echo of it in my mind.

I smiled to myself and switched arms to stir my thickening batter. “You’ll see, corazón. One day when we’re off this ship, I’ll make you your favorite food with all fresh and natural ingredients just for you with love from me and  _then_  you’ll understand.”

Vorik graced me with a raised brow but resumed reading his report without further comment.

There didn’t seem to be more to say. Though, I did consider trying to explain. Maybe he would understand it brought me closer to home. Maybe he’d understand if I told him it reminded me of my childhood and coming home from school to freshly baked bread and a glass of milk. Maybe he’d understand if I tried to explain it felt  _good_ to use my hands to create something or that I found pleasant quiet in the monotonous task of following a recipe’s directions. But then, maybe, at the end of the day, I would still be a Silly Human from the past who insisted too hard on sticking to it, however illogical it might be.

Whatever I could have said, I let it go and let the easy contentment from making things settle in my heart. A small smile spread across my face; Vorik looked up and searched me from time to time as I worked.

I greased my loaf pan and meticulously spooned out thick batter until my largest glass bowl was empty. _Baking is simple work, with high rewards_ , I thought about saying to him. For me, just imagining the smell of fresh banana bread wafting through our quarters as I sipped tea and studied warp cores was enough to make me giddy. It was a  _good_ feeling, making something from scratch, and one that I didn’t think had an equal; no matter how illogical Vorik might think it was. It was his loss, really.

Satisfied with myself, I straightened out the cricks in my back from bending over the table and wiped my fingers on the hand towel draped over my shoulder. I glanced around behind me for the oven when it struck me. Shit, had I even preheated it at all? I always forgot to do that first and now I’d have to wait for it to be ready before I could sit down.  _Man... every time_.

“I had meant to ask before you began,” Vorik piped up in a strange restrained sort of voice, “but you were so adamant about baking ‘from scratch’ that I didn’t wish to spoil your carefully laid out plans with logic.”

Inwardly, I groaned and let my head fall back in his direction. His eyes sparkled with something like barely concealed amusement and the corners of his lips twitched. I leaned over the table and drummed my fingers on the acrylic.

“Yes?” I prompted when Vorik didn’t continue, just kept looking annoyingly smug.

The Vulcan pushed his PADD aside with a slow, deliberate hand, and interlaced his fingers on the now empty space in front of him. Even as I dreaded the inevitable bad news he was about to drop on me, I could hardly keep the stupid smile from jumping to my lips. The penchant for the dramatic could hardly be deemed logical, and yet…

He arranged his face and fixed me with an innocent look from beneath his long lashes and delivered his lethal blow:

“How were you planning on baking your bread when conventional ovens no longer exist?”


End file.
